


Fingers

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Age Difference, Bodily Fluids, Desk Sex, Desperation, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingering, First Time, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, Hotdogging, ITS NOT PEE, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Power Dynamics, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teasing, Telepathic Bond, Trans Male Character, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Varis's huge galvus dick, Wet & Messy, he chumbus, lucius is very soft, slight weight kink, squart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 03:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: What are they doing? He wants, Varis wants, but neither of them are capable of taking that one step further to achieve it. As usual, Varis has deflected by ordering Lucius to work, and Lucius has no valid excuse to deny him. He is, after all, an advisor, secretary and administrator all rolled into one. A tactician? Not in the slightest. Varis knows that. Lucius knows that.So why is Lucius now bent over Varis's desk, puzzling out the retaking of Castrum Oriens, while Varis stares at his ass?OC x Canon - Attempt 3.





	Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> The smutty sequel to [this!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570610)  
For more info about Lucius, please click [here~](http://lucius-ffxiv.tumblr.com/about)
> 
> I wrote this in pieces, taking breaks of several months in between. I was determined to finish this and get it posted! I hope you enjoy it :3

It’s a few months since Lucius first dared lay hands upon the Emperor of Garlemald, Varis having coaxed him then into cupping his cheek and gazing into his eyes far longer than was proper. They’ve been skittering around each other ever since, with vague sentiments and half-formed touches always pulled at the last second. For propriety’s sake, of course – what would people _say_ if they knew the Emperor was cozying up to his new advisor almost _unnaturally_ fast, inviting the man to sit on his lap in their private hours and cradling him in his arms?

_‘I have to be careful.’_ Varis tells himself, sitting at his massive desk with a map of the known world engraved into the granite top. Strategies are the furthest thing from his mind now as he considers Lucius, who he’s summoned a few minutes past. _‘If someone decides to target him… no, he’s a Resonant, he should be able to defend himself.’_ Varis glances up as a shadow moves beyond the open door and Lucius peeks in, before standing to attention upon being noticed.

“Sir.”

“Come.” Varis beckons with his fingers, eyes flicking to the table which still refuses to reveal the secrets of Eorzean conquest. “Make yourself comfortable.” The door closes and seals the room with a lovely, crisp aetherproofing, though it’s a little cold due to the lack of heating in the reinforced steel walls. It takes _time_ for that, and Varis only just sat down without bothering to have someone set the thermostat. He doesn’t plan to be in here for long; these aren’t his regular office hours but he _needed_ to get away from the insistent badgering of those few nobles lingering about the Palace. They ask too many questions for his liking, and without Lucius near to help regulate his emotions, he grows frighteningly close to snapping at those he really shouldn’t. Politics and interpersonal relations. Ever the draining task.

Lucius knows well Varis’s office, the vast space and traditional décor feeling both homely and intimidating at once. Polished furniture made of the finest lumber in Ilsabard, ornate weapons displayed on the walls, Varis there in his black and gold armor occupying the only chair in the room… Lucius usually stands at rest when summoned here, serving as his Emperor desires. But after running for five minutes straight all the way from the palace’s north quarter, his thick thighs quiver in protest with every strand of muscle aching to give in. He stands, though, knees locked and eyes forwards. The default, when he is in pain.

Varis looks at him, golden gaze shifting while his head remains still. “I _said_, make yourself comfortable.”

Lucius twitches, brows lifting just a tad. “Truly?”

Varis nods and leans back, watching him with interest. Lucius takes a scant breath – he knows just how far to press Varis for reassurance (and it isn’t far at all; damn him and his lack of patience) and takes the risk of a lifetime in coming round the edge of his desk. This thing can seat (or stand) about twenty people, while the room is big enough for fifty.

Lucius nearly falters when Varis scoots his chair back on the sleek wooden floor as if he means to rise – though he’s not going anywhere, Lucius reading a mercurial wisp of joy through his aethers. The closer he gets, faster does the energy dance within still fingers and firm, strong core. The Emperor’s cape drapes over one side of his high-backed chair as he finally unfolds his hands and sets them on the armrests, now openly appraising Lucius from head to toe. Lucius doesn’t stop in his tracks even though he should – and while still searching whole seconds into Varis’s whims, he clambers into the man’s vast, armored lap without a single word.

Varis pauses at the sheer audacity – the _boldness_ – it excites him, more than he cares to admit. Lucius shifts around some, arranging his legs all neatly folded up as he straddles Varis, presses his face to the smooth glass orb on his breastplate. That _can’t_ be comfortable , this Varis knows as he feels minute adjustments every few seconds in the cant of his advisor’s hips, his shoulders, his neck. He sighs, quashing the initial shock beneath his usual veneer of perfect calm and control.

“Take this off.” He turns his forearms inwards too, so Lucius can rid him of the gauntlets and vambraces keeping him stiff and stoic. “If you’re going to sit here, you might as well enjoy it.”

“Are you going to punish me later?” Lucius murmurs, having read the request in Varis’s mind well enough to know just _what_ he wanted removed. “For my… unseemly misconduct?”

“Oh, please.” Varis scoffs with a shake of his head, hair sweeping the leather-backed seat. _‘Get on with it.’_

“Yes, Your Radiance.” Delivered with utter devotion and respect, Lucius bows his head and sets to undoing the many straps and magnetic fixtures keeping Varis’s enormous pauldrons in position, resting them as far on the desk as he can reach. The breastplate is a little more finicky – Varis isn’t helping much just _sitting_ there with his legs spread and arms to his sides, peering down his nose at Lucius with that molten gold gaze of his burning through the man’s head. He _wants_, vibrating on the inside with an excitement so powerful it leeches into Lucius’s body and makes his fingers twitch. He carefully quests alongside Varis’s thick chest and picks open his breastplate, shifting the armor away along with the back piece that follows still hinged by its leftmost straps.

Varis exhales quietly, shoulders slumping a good few ilms. Going about in armor all day _hurts_, damn it, but he’s long since grown used to living with a consistent ache. When he sleeps, when he walks, when he sits and eats and minds his own business – it hurts, but he deals with it, for he’s felt much worse and _what is life if not a little bit of suffering?_

_‘A lot,’_ Lucius thinks, pulling from Varis’s mind at the prickling of deep-seated anguish. He’s probed a little too far and will go no further, not when the Emperor’s face tightens imperceptibly and he _knows_. So he leaves the cold steel vault with its thousand grasping hands alone, and returns to the real world in which he’s sitting in the Emperor’s lap, hands on his chest. He looks up at Varis wanting for instruction – there’s still a fulm of prime Galvus meat to overcome if he wants direct eye contact, but it’s much more _comfortable_ here. Kneeling all small and subdued with his third eye doing most of the seeing, Resonant gaze returning to its natural opal hues as he awaits his orders. Were he to rise on his knees, he’d surely match Varis’s height (well, _barely_) but he doesn’t want to. And he’s not sure Varis wants him to, either.

Varis peers at him and lifts a hand into the man’s soft, fluffy hair, nesting amongst the curls at the base of his neck. He scruffs Lucius as one would a kitten, and the gentle scritches elicit a quiet mewl from the normally stoic lad. The Emperor’s other hand comes around to rest on Lucius’s ample backside, straining at the fine fabric of his trousers. Varis squeezes with interest – his advisor’s gotten a bit thicker over the past few months, like he’s loosened up in his strict personal routines to serve better, eat better, sleep better, _live better_. No longer do his hipbones jut out and clash with Varis unpleasantly, nor his arms seem so lanky as to barely carry more than a half-stack of books at a time. He’s _soft,_ and Varis sinks his hand into the plush loveliness of Lucius’s ass until he meets resistance.

Lucius dips his head, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. _‘He- he’s never touched me here before…’_ Come to think of it, _no-one_ has, not in the half decade he’s endured surrounded by other men in the military. Varis’s hands are _enormous_, his right alone spanning over half of Lucius’s rear. He manhandles him like a stress ball, fingers sinking in to the soft flesh as far as those tight trousers will let him.

“You know,” Varis hums, mirth fluttering through his rich, gravely voice, “I called you here to see what you know about strategy.” Lucius stiffens only to have Varis give him a firm smack on the ass, hard enough to jolt his whole body up and push his face into the Emperor’s thickly muscled chest. “And I see you are… well-practised, indeed.”

“Sir,” Lucius breathes, scrambling to sit properly and offer some semblance of apology, respect, protocol and routine and – he can’t, for Varis’s hand in his hair tightens and forces his head to look up at a sharp angle. His voice dies in his throat, tight and closed off for it is _not his place to speak while the Emperor is talking_. Varis sneers at him, turning into a sly smirk at the way Lucius’s lips part, his eyes glisten.

_‘Let’s see how far I can take this, mm…’_ Without Lucius in his mind to offset his growing anxiety, Varis’s behaviors are entirely automatic while he wonders what he can get away with. Anything – he’s the Emperor – but what does he _want_, and what if Lucius _doesn’t?_

Hell, why does he even care?

Captivated, Lucius maintains eye contact for as long as Varis holds him, golden gaze flickering minutely as the Emperor takes in his advisor’s precious little face.

“You do have some interesting tactics.” Varis purrs, though it’s more like the rumble of distant thunder than anything safe and small and smooth. “I never expected _you_, of all people, to walk into my office with an agenda of your own.”

“I- I serve,” Lucius’s voice quivers thin and fearful, sorely tempted to flick his Resonance on and dive into Varis’s mind. It’s almost too much – what is he thinking, what does he want, what is he going to do? “I – please accept my – my sincerest apologies, for…” He trails off, stammering pressed into a flat grey silence by the _look_ on Varis’s face.

“You do, do you?” Varis says after a time in which Lucius has grown so antsy he’s beginning to shiver. “You _serve_, and is that why you’re sitting here, distracting me from my work?”

“I should go,” Lucius mutters quickly, but makes no attempt to wrench himself free from the Emperor’s grip.

“No,” Varis says, scratching at the back of Lucius’s neck where a considerable heat rises from his skin. “You should not.”

_‘What do I do?’_ He can’t take it anymore, and Lucius shuts his eyes tight to offset the blood-red glow of his active Resonance. He dives into Varis’s mind and immediately finds himself in a junkyard of emotions he _swore_ he’d cleaned up this morning. Confusion, desire, control, and fear. Far too much for him to handle at once, yet if they’re to make progress, do _anything_ – it needs to be carefully sorted. Neither he nor Varis is willing to take the mother of all risks and just _do it – _whatever _it_ is – instead creeping about the reality while weighing options and variables and possibilities that don’t even exist.

“Sir,” he whispers, clearing his throat a moment later. “Please tell me what you want.”

Varis lifts a brow. He appreciates that, the candor and straightforwardness he’s hard-pressed to find in the snakepit that is his Royal Court. _‘Mayhaps I’ve grown too used to it, the mincing of words and subtleties and readings. Well. If he wants to know, then I will… oh, but what do I even say? I haven’t the slightest clue what this is. Too late to think on it now – say something, say SOMETHING!’_

Varis doesn’t say a word, and Lucius’s fine blonde brows crease together with concern. “Your Radiance…?”

“Strategy.” The Emperor’s mind closes off with tall steel barricades forming around the tangled mess of his thoughts. “What I required your assistance with. I wish to see what manner of head you have on your shoulders for tactics and the like.” He gives Lucius one last cursory scritch and releases his hair, along with his ass. Lucius _whines_, pursing his lips shut the moment Varis flicks a stricken glance between his eyes.

What are they _doing_? He wants, Varis wants, but neither of them are capable of taking that one step further to achieve it. As usual, Varis has deflected by ordering Lucius to work, and Lucius has no valid excuse to deny him. He is, after all, an advisor, secretary and administrator all rolled into one. A tactician? Not in the slightest. Varis knows that. Lucius knows that. And now, Lucius is turned to stand with his back to His Radiance, looking over the world map engraved into the granite desktop. He half expects Varis to speak, to tell him just _what_ he’s meant to be strategizing about, but not a single word comes. Only thin, shallow breaths in and out, and a read suggests Varis isn’t thinking about military tactics at all. No – he’s staring _directly_ at Lucius’s ass, somehow managing to keep his hands to himself and his arousal from tearing through his trousers. Lucius knows fully well that Varis wants a piece of him, knows what he’s got under there, that he’s read his long medical history cover to cover. It doesn’t entirely make sense to him _how_ out of all the people the Emperor could choose, he’s chosen _him_, and supposes Varis might just want a piece of ass to fuck rather than a connection with the man above it. _That_ has his lashes lowering, a sickly tension aching in his chest. And Varis is _still_ eyeing him.

Lucius turns, peering sideways at his Emperor. “Your Radiance…?”

“Strategy.” says Varis, standing abruptly and towering over Lucius to point at the western side of the map. His huge, heavy body presses into the lad from behind, a powerfully dominative presence that has Lucius shrinking into himself. “We hold Ala Mhigo here, and have yet to recapture Baelsar’s Wall here.” He points, bearing down on Lucius as he bends. Strong as he is, Lucius cannot uphold a Galvus, and rests his elbows on the table while looking to the left where Varis gestures. “Castrum Oriens has been overtaken by the savages, and- straighten up, boy, pay attention.” One massive hand scoops under Lucius’s chest and pulls him up, until he’s plastered to Varis with his gut sticking out, pressing against the desk.

“Hyee!” He can’t withholds the squeak that escapes him, the shock to his spine enough to have him hurting for a moment too long. “Y-Your Radiance…”

“Concentrate.” Varis growls, hand sliding down Lucius’s front to his stomach, where he squeezes. “You’re not having lunch until you help me figure out a plan to get this back.” He clicks his fingers by the border of the North Shroud. “Highly defensible from the west side, not so much from the east. Manned by five thousand. What do you think?”

Lucius can’t think. Varis’s hand is so _big_ and warm, groping at his too-soft stomach quivering as he sucks it in, hardly breathing from the effort. He’s not a soldier, he’s _spoilt_, that’s what he is, mind and body grown lax from months of sweet indulgence and little more. Never mind how he’s been running his aethers ragged trying to take care of Varis, it’s not good enough if he’s standing here unable to give even a simple suggestion on a hypothetical situation. There’s no _way_ Varis would take his counsel on a declaration of war, as the Eorzeans weren’t likely to take an attack on Baelsar’s wall as anything but. Varis squeezes him harder, massaging in circular motions that flick one of his buttons open.

“I’m waiting.”

Lucius exhales, pale flesh spilling through Varis’s fingers, and his face is so flushed he looks about to cry. “B-bomb it,” he groans, “Or something.” Varis’s hand quests lower, two fingers prying open another button and untucking Lucius’s shirt. He kneads the pliant flesh now bared to his touch, other hand running up his advisor’s left side and coming around to his chest.

“Oh…? Very interesting.” A squeeze to Lucius’s left pectoral has the lad keening softly, helpless within his Emperor’s firm grasp. “Structural damage aside, with enough munitions we could most certainly wipe out the majoity of opposition there. And for those within the wall, a strike team could easily take care of it.” He’s hard against Lucius’s backside, yet doesn’t seem to acknowledge it with a thrust or press. “You _do_ have a head for tactics on your shoulders, boy. Well done.”

“Aah…?” Lucius’s eyes glisten, a thin line of drool escaping his parted lips. He nips them together, swallowing thickly with his face on fire from the Emperor’s praise. _‘I’ve… pleased him? I’ve done good?’_ From the way Varis continues to toy with him, it certainly seems so, and the combined sensations give rise to a fluttering joy within his chest, unwinding the knots in his stomach, heating up his core. “Thank you, Your Radiance…” he breathes, shifting his weight and rubbing himself back against Varis. The Emperor’s aethers jolt with surprise, echoed by a throb at the front of his straining trousers. Lucius _feels_ it and groans quietly – how big must this man be, to have such a considerable hardness pressing at him? Lucius has quite the sizeable backside himself, and to be able to feel so acutely Varis’s cock…

“I think,” Varis says at last, voice thick with lust half stuck in his throat, “You’ve earned yourself a reward.” He leans down, though he’s far too tall to really whisper in his advisor’s ear. Instead, he presses bodily against Lucius and grinds his cock against the lad’s plump ass, right hand grasping his belt buckle. “_Do you want it_?”

Lucius can’t decide. Not for himself, not with the aethers between them so vibrantly wanton, Varis’s long-repressed need conquering every brain cell he has left. It feels like his own, like he’s wanted this all his life, so overpowering is His Radiance’s desire. He quakes and quivers as his belt comes undone, rough, squared fingers slipping into his trousers and splitting the buttons open with the size of that hand. Varis does not yet touch him beyond his lacy smallclothes, cupping the plump, slick sex he finds begging for him.   
“Lucius…”

“_Please,”_ Lucius moans, soft and feeble into a hand he didn’t realize he’d clasped to his mouth. “Mmh, I- _Sir_…”

Varis fondles his chest for a moment more, then drags that hand away fully aware that Lucius could keep it there if he so wished – perceptive Resonant that he is. “Don’t be shy, boy. I need to know.”

The serious tone he takes sends a fierce jolt right through Lucius’s core, slick beginning to seep through his trousers. “Yes, _oh_, yes, Your Radiance, please…” His hands find Varis’s forearms and squeeze, holding on like he’ll float off into the heavens if he doesn’t anchor himself thus. “Ple- Please fuck me, if you…”

“I want to.” Varis growls, shoving two fingers into his advisor’s soaked panties and circling the slick, pulsing flesh. “You have _no idea_…”

“Nnh!” Lucius bucks into Varis’s hand, immediately rutting against the fingers that don’t move nearly as quick as he’d like. “I do, Radiance, I _do_…” His mouth falls agape, head dropping to allow a long, deep moan free from his chest. “Ooohnnn…” Varis has never seen him so wanton before, and catches sight of his advisor’s face in the reflection of his polished desk. He’s only ever dreamed of undoing Lucius thus, taking apart that carefully-constructed façade of military-grade politeness and stoicism to see who he _really_ is beneath it. If he’ll meet Varis’s desire with his own. Lucius whines at him, such a sweet, drawling note that pulls him out of his mind and back into reality, massive fingers still idly toying with Lucius’s sex. The lad’s trying to get his trousers down and can’t manage to tug them past his wide hips, face flushed dark with embarrassment and need. So Varis decides to help him, withdrawing his fingers just long enough to force the straining fabric down and baring for the first time that round, thick ass for his viewing pleasure. He exhales thinly at the sight, taking in both hands the pale, plump cheeks and reveling in their softness.

_‘Even bigger than I thought…’_ No wonder the man’s pants always looked ready to burst – they _were_, holding back enough meat to feed Varis for a week. And how he wants to feast, to push his face right in there and drink from Lucius’s core. He only has enough presence of mind now to undo his own trousers, struggling one-handed with the buttons until he just rips them open and out springs his cock. It whacks against Lucius’s ass with an audible _thwap_, and the lad arches his back in his hunger for it. He can’t spread his legs fast enough with his pants trapped around his knees, but oh does he try, wiggling back against Varis while gasping and whimpering all the while. Varis strokes himself once, twice, then unceremoniously shoves himself between Lucius’s cheeks. A heavy sigh rolls from his parted lips, Lucius making a strangled little noise in response. He’s so _wet_, Varis can easily rut between his thighs, all eighteen ilms of his cock reaching from back to front. Never mind how _wide_ Lucius is, Varis is so exceedingly long that he can pleasure himself wholly just like this. Lucius, meanwhile, is in awe at the size of it, bracing himself against the table as Varis fucks his fat thighs with enough force to shake the desk.

“In,” Lucius groans, when he has enough breath in his lungs. “Inside, Sir, please--”

Varis hisses in reply, right hand coming around to finger Lucius into ecstasy. Lucius squeaks, wholly encompassed by his Emperor’s huge, strong body taking what it will from his overindulgent form. Varis’s whole left arm is keeping Lucius up, elbow at his chest and fingers curled around his throat. So too is he partially bent over, platinum blonde hair falling in silken curtains by either side of Lucius’s face. Lucius loses himself soon enough in the mingled aethers screaming nothing but lust, chasing completion the likes of which neither of them could attain themselves. Together, like this, it is so much stronger and Varis meets Lucius for every needful pulse and throb of his body. His shirt’s scrunched up beneath his chest, leaving his whole stomach bare, and by now his pants have pooled around his ankles where he can’t really kick them away. It’s all he can do to just stay standing, arms useless as Varis fucks him raw. Those fingers massage unceasingly in circles around and around his sex, dripping wet and occasionally wiping themselves off on his belly. The friction brings Lucius to an abrupt climax with such force that his whole body shakes, voice lost to helpless half-breaths and cries of his lover’s name. His thighs tense and milk Varis to completion, but when _he_ comes it’s with a surge of aether so strong that Lucius is almost knocked unconscious by it. A deep, rumbling growl claws its way from Varis’s chest and saturates the space between them, his voice heavy with a thousand thousand nuts restrained for far too long. He shoots like a geyser across the pristine surface of his desk, thick, gluey ropes of come spattering all over the place. Without thinking, Lucius reaches over and drags his hand through the mess, scooping it up to his face to consume as much as he can. His own juices are running down his thighs and he doesn’t even care, continuing to convulse in Varis’s trembling grasp.

Varis falls back into his chair with his legs spread, dragging Lucius atop him. Utterly spent, the front of his trousers covered in their mingled fluids, he can do little more than close his eyes and pant softly. As his racing pulse calms, his hands drop to encircle Lucius’s sticky waist and grope at him softly. Lucius keens in reply, squirming and sensitive. It tickles, even though Varis holds him with surety and strength. Their aethers are nigh indistinguishable now, so tightly woven that even a shift apart would not begin to unravel them. They’ve broken through a barrier held for so long it seemed impassable, bringing such wonderful relief through the shattering of fearful restraints. Lucius, boneless, whispers with his head resting on Varis’s chest.  
“Radiance…”

“Rrgh.” Varis grunts. “Call me Varis.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested in RPing something like this or otherwise trying some collaborative writing with Varis/Lucius, please leave a comment below! I’d love to write with you~ and more love for Varis is always good!   
Thank you so much for reading. ;v;


End file.
